Photography by Bryce Thomas

I like to think

That the atoms of wind

That caress my skin

Have, once, travelled

Through your lungs

I like to think

That the water

That I use to make my tea

Was, once, a tear of joy

On your cheek

I like to think

That the piece of paper,

Where I’m writing this poem,

Was, once, a tree

You liked to climb

I like to think

That our lives

Are more connected

Than our Facebook pages

—

P. H. Bedim

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Painting by Catrin Walz Stein

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